


ophelia complex

by craftingdead



Series: charlie will make cd a common tag if it kills them [34]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Canon Compliant, Child Death, Drowning, F/M, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 04:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19881406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: She names her daughter "help," because it inspires her on how much she has helped her learn and grow. Because parenthood is the most life changing thing in the world, right?





	ophelia complex

She names her “Ophelia” because her mother loves the name, and she has never been one to let down her mother.

Her daughter has the same coarse, curly hair as her; a midnight black, almost, with the same undertones her mother used to praise her about—Mousie never knew what she was talking about, but by the squeal and the claims of “look how much she looks like you!” she can assume that it must be the same.

She’s young when she has her, but does it out of choice. She can balance both school and a daughter, she knows—and her mother believes in her. Offers to babysit Ophelia whenever needed. To watch over her on late nights.

Mousie’s boyfriend of now six years watches her the other half; he’s kind and funny, cheering her up through the worst of her pregnancy and the beginning of her years at grad school. People there give her strange looks whenever she brings up how she has a daughter, but her mother has taught her to look on the bright side of things, whenever possible.

And Ophelia is her world—Mousie watches through her first words, babbling “Mama!” as Liam holds up a camera with tears in his eyes and a hand over his mouth; she holds open her arms as Ophelia comes tumbling over to her—Liam in the exact same position as before, only this time he’s shaking his head to the side too, as if that can stop the tears from flowing, and Mousie just laughs as Ophelia collapses into her arms with a giggle and he breaks.

“You did good, with that boy,” her mother says, approvingly, and her father agrees over the phone, grin visible in his voice. “I don’t know, maybe you should give him some… hints, on your future together? You two do have a child.”

Mousie grins, and pulls a ring out of the back pocket of her shorts. “Already got you covered, Mama,” she responds smugly and her mother’s eyes go wide.

She plans to propose on the third of October—it’s a Friday, and she already has the entire thing set up: He comes home from a class he’s taking at around two PM, she gives off Ophelia to her mom an hour later so they can be alone, and then she gets on one knee and pops the question.

The world ends October first, a Wednesday. 

The first half of the stay is spent in tense preparation and happiness, almost giddy on it as she makes sure to hide the ring again so her plan isn’t spoiled. The second is watching the news, holding a hand over her mouth and telling her five-year-old daughter to stay in her room, it’s fine, Mama and Dada can handle it. Liam cries into her shoulder and she holds him close as gore and destruction plays on the news. She hasn’t gotten a call from her mother in a few hours, and she can feel Ophelia watching from the crack between the door and doorway she’s inched open.

Monroe and Dug are two friends of hers, both older, both from grad school. They took her under their wing as some kind of “apprentice,” teaching her stuff she already knew and acting like everything she said was a riot.

They took her to get her hair dyed a few weeks earlier. She likes how it looks, how Liam’s mouth dropped open when he saw her for the first time. They stood in the doorway, grinning. They stand in the doorway now as well, grim looks on their faces, gesturing for the small family to follow them out.

There’s a compound into the woods they know—it’s powered by a generated, and a powerful one at that. It would be able to last them weeks, maybe even months without refueling it or having to use one of the backups. The area is half-owned by another friend of theirs Elliot—he’s a nice, older looking man. His smile is warm and he opens his land to them with open arms. His daughter’s friend, Kassandra, twenty-six, an actual doctor, is also there with them. His daughter is nowhere to be found, and they don’t ask about it.

Mousie loses Liam in the stupidest way fucking possible—he goes out on a run with a few other people they had invited to the camp (it’s now housing almost a hundred people, and she’s thankful for how big it is, and how much supplies they have) and he doesn’t come back.

First her mother and father, then her friends, and now Liam? She doesn’t know when it’s going to fucking end. She sulks around camp for a month and only comes back to consciousness when Elliot’s partner, co-owner of the land, dies and he’s in too much turmoil to take care of everyone. And, well, someone has got to do it, don’t they?

She doesn’t allow herself to grieve long and, even if she did, now that she has taken on a role of leadership? The group wouldn’t let her grieve long. She couldn’t grieve long, with them, now.

And, besides, she still has a daughter to watch over. Ophelia is her prize and her jewel—six, now. Old enough to understand what’s happening to her and what’s happened to Daddy and Grandmama and Grandpapa. She’s much too serious for her own good, always has, and asks Monroe one day if he can teach her how to shoot a gun. He says no, obviously, but Dug takes an interest in it. Mousie doesn’t tell them off—only tells them to be careful and wear earmuffs. Ophelia has to learn sooner or later, and Mousie would never be able to bring herself to do it alone.

Ophelia is a light in the darkness to the camp. Not many children survived; Mousie has calmed down many mothers and fathers and parents who had lost their children to the apocalypse and walkers, or even sadistic raiders. And Ophelia manages to keep up a such serious persona while still letting childish innocence slip through that it’s impossible  _ not  _ to be happy around her. She picks flowers only to lay them back down again, loves all the animals, talks to everyone—she’s a force in the camp in the best way.

So of course the fucking Stranger had to come around and fucking rip her away from Mousie in the worst way possible.

She runs off, during a confrontation. He chases her into the forest—it’s more to scare the girl than anything. Sure, he’s sadistic, but he wouldn’t kill a child for no reason, especially not one so young. He taunts her, Mousie with a gun to him and he with a gun to Ophelia.  _ Just give me what I want, _ he says, with a grin,  _ and we can leave. Fuck you, _ Mousie hisses back,  _ give me back my fucking daughter. _

Ophelia rips away from him, falls into the lake, the waterfall pounding in front of them. The Stranger holds her head underwater, and demands the supplies. He holds her under for too long. Because that’s the fucking thing with him, isn’t it? He just always does things for too fucking long.

Her heart breaks in two and rips open on the stones beneath the waterfall.

She named her “Ophelia” because Mousie knew better than to listen to strangers listing names on the internet, and instead pays close attention to her mother’s opinion.

Mousie hates going out to that fucking lake. She wears she can still see the blood, still hears the screams, the slight look of shock on the Stranger’s face as she shoots him in the gut. He got away, but she prays it leaves a nasty scar. Never heals right. Hurts forever. Gets infected and leaves him to die in the woods.

She named her “Ophelia,” and maybe that was the problem from the start. The tragic Ophelia, who drowned herself. The saddened Ophelia, a complex and a syndrome named after her. The tearful Ophelia, one of Shakespeare's famous characters.

Her name means “help” and Mousie wonders who was there to help her?


End file.
